The Outlander Adventures
by macrhian
Summary: Issa, only child of Vonden Mano, House Father of Redoran, leaves Ald'ruhn with other Redoran friends to Gnisis for a short outing, only to be framed for a crime and thrown in an Imperial jail. After being shipped to the mainland and later returned to Vvardenfell, Issa discovers her true purpose and potential. However, the Blades appear to have a different idea...


Red clouds advanced from the darkened mountains and a ferocious ash-storm descended upon Ald'ruhn, sweeping across the barren hills like a diseased swarm. The city was burrowed into the foothills of the Red Mountain, the ever-active volcano that dominated the land. In the face of the coming ash-storm, the Redoran citizens of Ald'ruhn hurried to store fresh goods inside their homes, returning outside wearing protective masks and veils.

Issa examined her fire pit and the cooking meat, eyeing the coming storm with disappointment. This was not the first time an ash-storm ruined her cooking and she was certain every nix-hound stew she ever made had a small hint of ash lurking in them. Sighing, Issa gathered her spices and retreated inside.

Her home, like the others in Ald'ruhn, was made from a shell carapace and had a neglected and weathered exterior. Inside the entry room was shaped in a circle, a cooking fire, some herb racks and spice shelves and a dining table lining the walls with three paper lanterns hanging from metal hooks in the ceiling. In the center facing away from the door was a hood-covered staircase that led underground where the main household was buried, warmly lit and richly decorated.

She checked the stewpot and, testing a spoonful, added a strong dose of pepper. Issa cast her eyes about the home, searching for errands to do or chores to finish. The house had been cleaned, dinner was on its way, a local merchant was still making the paper lantern replacement, and all the laundry had been finished and stored. Due to the ash-storm, the rugs could not be beaten and the front door washed. She had finished the taxes and finances yesterday and repaired her father's ceremonial robe earlier that morning. Issa sighed. Perhaps she could clean her father's armor.

Life with her father Vonden in Ald'ruhn proved a quiet, work-filled existence. Though he served as a House Father for the Redoran nobles, they had never hired a servant or maid, primarily because of their recent return to Morrowind. It had been three years since their move from Cheydinhal, but Issa still had troubles adjusting to the Redoran House and the barren Ashlands. She was considered an outlander, even when Vonden was a native Dunmer, and her lack of knowledge concerning Morrowind, Dunmer culture and Redoran politics made her a stranger in her father's home-city. Because Cheydinhal retained a heavy Dunmer population, Issa was accustomed to the Dunmer diet and she could even prepare the dishes quite well, but cooking wasn't enough to build new friendships and acquaintances. The Dunmer were a reserved group and it took months for Issa to become casual friends with some of the other house members.

Issa headed downstairs and into one of the many rooms divided by white partitions. The one upon the left before her father's chamber housed his weapons, armor and tools to repair them. In the center of the room was a mannequin to which Vonden's dull gold-colored armor was strapped. As she reached for the helm, a resounding knock came from upstairs and the door opened and slammed shut.

"Issa! Aren't you comin' to the hall?" shouted a man's voice. "Issa, dammit, where are you?" Footsteps moved toward the top of the staircase and the man shouted again, his voice now amplified. "_Issa!_"

Running from the room, Issa came to a halt at the base of the stairs. Facing her was a tall, dark-skinned man whose eyes brightened at the sight of her. The Redguard smiled.

"So you are home," he began. "I was starting to think you had left to find your father in the Council Halls. Are you coming to train?"

Issa blinked. "I thought we weren't training today. You've said that when there's a heavy ash-storm we won't meet."

Domas batted his hand at her. "Pfff, if we always cancelled training due to ash-storms, we'd never meet in the first place. I just didn't want people putting their health at risk if they didn't have a protective mask." He paused, as if waiting for her to respond. "Well, come on—go get changed!"

With a grin, Issa rushed to the far corner of the house where her rooms lay. She threw off her apron and robes and opened her wardrobe to dig out her training gear. She only had a cuirass made from the hide of a Netch, a large, jellyfish-like creature that lived closer to the coasts. Fitting on some trousers and her protective cowl, Issa grabbed her steel tanto and spear and ran after Domas.

After removing the roasted nix-hound meat inside, the pair set across Ald'ruhn to his home and training hall. The ash-storm continued to scream from the mountains and Issa was almost blown over. The sky was a mottled crimson and large black flakes of ash flurried past Issa's face, accumulating in crack, against walls and in dips in the streets. They hurried and wove through the streets and alleys, finding the quickest path to Domas's training hall.

Waiting at Domas's door was another trainee, squinting at them as they neared. When the trainee recognized them, he happily waved.

"Ah! You've come back!" the trainee cried with a gravely voice. "Good, we can begin now."

"Afternoon, Seras," called Domas with a smile. "I never realized you were my house-guard."

"Self-promotion," the Dunmer promptly said. "More like a bouncer of sorts."

Domas walked past, opened the door and headed to the underground training hall, Issa and Seras closely following. Issa scrutinized Seras, the latter unaware of her gaze. Though Issa was a Dunmer herself, she was never accustomed to the tattoos and paints the native Dunmer wore in Morrowind. Many of the Dunmer in Cheydinhal had uninked faces, but Seras, an Ashlander by birth, had white tattooed dots around his eyes and cheekbones. He also had golden rings pierced through his pointed ears, another feature absent in the Dunmer of Cheydinhal. Seras, along with most Dunmer near Red Mountain, also had a graveled, raspy voice from breathing in too much ash from the constant storms.

Seras turned towards her. "How is your father?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, doing well," she replied. She was grateful the dim lighting in the corridor they were in hid the blush on her blue skin. She was afraid he had caught her watching him. "With the Telvanni rogues setting up new bases, he's been busy in counsel with the other members to counteract their infiltration."

Seras nodded. As they neared the doors of the training room, he held the door open and waited for her to pass through. "I've heard of the Telvanni rogue movements," he said. "But I never realized it was a problem for our Redoran lands."

"Their rogue bases are nearing Redoran borders. The House will likely send out soldiers to repel them once they come too close."

Seras smiled. "You know Redoran politics well, outlander?"

Shrugging, Issa said, "I'm learning."

Domas's training hall stretched far underground and was very spacious. Along the entry wall, racks of weapons and gear were stored for use and to the left was a large archway leading to an archery range. Seven others waited along the walls, some stretching on the floor. Domas entered as the enigmatic king in his own court.

"Come, everyone! Now that we have all assembled, we may now begin," he said, his arms stretched welcomingly. "Starting out, I want the short and longsword people on separate ends of the hall. Marksmanship people, you guys can do your thing in the range. I'll call everyone together partway through for a new exercise together."

As the trainees moved to their positions, Domas beckoned Issa to follow him towards the weapons rack. "What do you plan to do with your life, Issa?" he asked.

Her brows furrowed. "With my life?" she repeated. "Uh, well—I don't know."

Domas's eyes narrowed momentarily. "Really?"

Issa opened her mouth to speak, but immediately closed it. She sighed. "Well, I—I want to do more that manage a house all my life," she blurted. "It's not that I don't love my father. I do, and I don't mind taking care of him and his domestic affairs, but sometimes…sometimes I feel as though I should leave and _do_ _something_."

"You mean to leave in search of adventure?" Domas suggested.

"Yes, except not as a desire," Issa said. "But as a duty." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. That doesn't even make sense."

Domas eyed her thoughtfully. "How interesting," he mumbled. He suddenly straightened as if remembering his original purpose.

"These past months I've been training you with shortblades, expanding your skill beyond a tanto," he began. "The wakizashi has been a blade you've taken to quite naturally and I'm certain this will aid you in whatever path you take."

He reached towards the rack and pulled a steel wakizashi in a black sheath from the assortment of blades and held it before her, his palms facing upward. The blade was about two feet long and had a subtle curve to it. Near the top, the letters _T.M._ were engraved upon the hilt.

Perplexed, Issa examined the blade with care. "Those are my initials," she muttered. _Tissamsi Mano_, she thought.

Domas beamed. "It's yours."

Her head shot up. "Really? Are you serious?" she asked. Domas handed over the blade and she smiled. "This is amazing," she breathed.

"You've become very skilled," he said. "You deserve it."

With her head bowed, Issa ran her fingers across the smooth leather sheath. She looked up as Domas placed his hands upon her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. "I don't know what is in store for you, Issa, but whatever you do, remember what you've been taught here. Combat within a training hall and combat in the wilderness are very separate things. Remember what you've been taught."

"Diligence and knowledge are everything," he said. "Diligence and knowledge."


End file.
